


A Demonic Remedy

by JamesBranwen



Series: JamesBranwen's snzfics [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Emetophobia, Fever, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Character, Sickfic, Sneezing, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 03:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19880779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamesBranwen/pseuds/JamesBranwen
Summary: (Crowley is the remedy)Aziraphale finds himself sick for the first time and Crowley helps him work through it.-rated t for lil vomit scene-





	A Demonic Remedy

**Author's Note:**

> sick aziraphale rights....  
> shout out to [nothing_special](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothing_special/pseuds/nothing_special) for reading through this for me!  
> this is pretty tame but it contains emeto so if ur not into tht u may want to skip this one!!

It was a drizzly summer evening in London, the pitter-patter of rain rhythmically beating against the sides of Aziraphale's prized bookshop as the glow of street lamps shone through the windows. Normally, on a night like this Aziraphale would be sprawled across his couch, reading an old novel or a recent addition to his expansive book collection. Tonight however, Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to lift his head up off his desk. He was sat alone in the back of his shop, unable to focus on anything but his twisting, grumbling stomach. Every time he so much as moved an inch, he would immediately feel a lurch as his abdomen tightened up, nausea spreading up his spine and down to his toes. Sitting still didn't solve all of his problems, however. The angel was also suffering from a runny nose. With the combination of symptoms, he had resigned himself to sniffling every half minute or so just to hold it all in. He sighed deeply, trying to come up with something, but he was unable to think clearly. He had never felt this way in 6000 years of owning this body, and he didn’t know what to do.

Almost on cue, two knocks came from behind the door of A. Z. Fell's, followed by the familiar  _ clink-clank _ of locks coming undone. In his groggy state, Aziraphale was unable to bring himself to look up and see his lanky demon friend waltzing through the entryway. A call came from the front of the store, “Aziraphale? R'you in here?” The angel could only reply with a low groan. 

Crowley, confused, shook off his umbrella and made his way to the back of the shop where the noise had come from. The view he was met with only served to perplex him further. Crowley had lived among humans for a very, very long time. He had spoken many languages, and stored an extensive vocabulary, but at that moment the only thing his brain could muster was “Ah, crikey, Aziraphale.” In response to this, Aziraphale could only manage a deep sigh. Realizing his exclamation wouldn't cut it, Crowley followed up with, “What happened to you, dear?” His mind raced with possibilities. Had upstairs called? Was he on assignment somewhere else? Or worse, was he in trouble? He could come up with an escape plan, they could run away together. It would be fine, surely.

“I'mm not feeling well,” Aziraphale answered quietly into the desk, sniffling. 

“Oh, Angel. Let me check you out,” Crowley responded, his eyebrows knitted together in concern. Being a demon on Earth, he had experience with dealing with the ill. It was common for pestilence to take hold in places he frequented over the years. What wasn't common though, was an angel falling ill. So uncommon in fact, he was quite sure that Aziraphale was the  _ only  _ angel to fall ill, ever. He chose not to focus on that minor detail and prioritize figuring the current situation out. He knelt down next to the angel, resting his hand gently across the small of his back. “Can you sit up for me, Angel?” The pet name often seemed to slip out when he was worried. 

“Mmm,” groaned Aziraphale as he sat up slowly. He felt his intestines once again tighten, his arms reflexively covering his stomach. For the first time, Crowley took in how sickly his poor friend appeared. His normal rosy cheeks looked ghostly pale and every few moments his nose twitched as he sniffled. ““Oh dear... Come on Angel, let's get you lying down.” Aziraphale nodded and the pair slowly made their way to the couch. Crowley looped one arm across his partner's waist, and held the other steadily on his shoulder. They had only walked about seven small steps when Aziraphale was suddenly doubled over, spilling the contents of his stomach all over the floor. Why had he eaten that crepe earlier? 

As his angel coughed and heaved, Crowley stood somewhat dumbfounded. Even if he was used to dealing with sick people, he wasn't used to seeing  _ Aziraphale _ doubled over and obviously uncomfortable. He quickly regained his senses and grabbed Aziraphale a trash can to throw up in. He stood rubbing the man’s back in slow circles. Aziraphale sputtered, obviously trying to swallow the bile rising in his throat. “You can let it out,” Crowley told him, “you will feel better afterwards.” With that, the angel let out one final heave, acidic vomit spilling out into the trash can and sticking to his tongue. He stumbled over to the couch, and Crowley rushed to Aziraphale’s small kitchenette for a glass of water and a wet cloth. 

Aziraphale took small sips of water, afraid to upset his stomach once more. Crowley knelt next to the couch with the damp cloth and touched it to Aziraphale’s mouth. The angel shivered as the cloth brushed over his lips. “Sorry, ‘s a bit cold,” Crowley said, setting the cloth aside, “You stained your clothes.” 

Without another word, the demon began untying Aziraphale’s bow tie. Aziraphale’s breath sharpened, but he made no complaints. He just hoped that upstairs didn’t decide that  _ this _ was a good moment to check in on him. Crowley quickly got to work unbuttoning Aziraphale’s shirt and slipping his jacket off his shoulders. As he removed the angel’s clothes, he paused to take in the sight of his bare chest- he hadn’t actually seen it before. (Don’t blame him, this isn’t exactly what he thought he would be spending his evening doing either.) With a snap, Aziraphale was clothed again, wearing a soft set of pajamas-- no, not any set of pajamas, Crowley’s pajamas. He could make do without them for a night. 

“I’m feeling quite cold...” Aziraphale said in a hushed tone, rubbing his arms. 

“Oh dear, you may be running a fever.” Aziraphale looked up at him, frowning. “Here,” Crowley said, reaching out and grabbing the angel by his shoulders. He leaned in and planted his lips over his forehead. It was definitely warm. Crowley pulled away, brushing his lips against the bridge of Aziraphale’s nose as he did so. “I think you may have a-” he was cut off by the angel suddenly hitching his breath.  **Hhh-heh-hh-hetcschuu!** He lurched forward suddenly as the viscous liquid caught in his nose rocketed out like a cannonball. He looked down in horror as he noticed the clear liquid connecting his nose directly to Crowley’s upper lip. The demon sat dumbfounded for a moment.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry my dear boy, I didn’t see that coming, oh heavens--”

“No matter,” Crowley stated, making a motion with his hand. The snot disappeared. Aziraphale blushed a deep red and was unable to speak.

“Listen, Aziraphale,” the angel readied himself to be berated, scolded, ditched, “as your caretaker, I prescribe you a night of rest along with someone to keep you warm.” With that, Crowley climbed onto the couch beside Aziraphale and put his arms around him. The pair shifted so they were lying together, entwined. It was a tight fit, but not uncomfortable. Aziraphale blushed yet again, this time because he was so close to Crowley.

“I’m- _ sniffle _ -sorry you must see me like this... I dunno what has come over me...” Aziraphale said, leaning into the demon’s chest.

“It’s no big deal, really. Might I ask, though, how on  _ earth _ did an angel go about falling ill?”

The angel hesitated, “Well, I was reading a book about a man who was awfully sick and suddenly I just... couldn’t get up from my desk.”

“You got sick from a  _ book _ ?” Crowley covered his face with one of his hands. He let out a small chuckle and planted a kiss on his angel’s forehead. Of course Aziraphale would manage that. Resigned for the night, there was nothing he could really do besides continue to lay entangled here with his partner until the latter felt like himself again. For some reason, he didn’t mind that so much.


End file.
